


The New Intern

by BlotOutMyName



Series: The New Intern [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Gotham City Police Department, Kidnapping, Murder, Nygma-Harley Friendship, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 15,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlotOutMyName/pseuds/BlotOutMyName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen-year-old Harley Quinzel is starting an internship at the GCPD, interested in learning about criminal psychology, to aid her dream in becoming a psychiatrist. But unbeknownst to her, an evil is rising again in Gotham, threatening to dredge up her violent past and destroy everything she's worked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is my first fanfic, and any feedback would be appreciated.  
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!

 Harley stood on the grim, gray steps of the police station. Just another grim, gray building filled with the same amount of evil and corruption as any other building in this grim, gray city that was called Gotham.

        She bit her lip, tugged nervously at the end of her ponytail, then continued her climb up the steps of the station, using both hands to open the heavy door. As she stepped inside, she was instantly swept up in the noise and bustle of the main floor. Officers hurried by her with cups of coffee, stacks of files, or criminals in tow. There didn’t seem to be a receptionist or a main desk, so she caught a tall man by the sleeve of his lab coat as he passed by.

        Harley expected him to be irritated at the interruption, but he brightened, apparently delighted at having the attention of a new person.

        “Can I help you, ma’am?” The man was quite tall and thin, and his coffee cup bore a bold question mark.

        “Yes, please,” Harley said, a little flustered from the bustle of the station. “Can you tell me who is in charge here? I applied to be an intern for the department.”

        “Yes, I can tell you who is in charge.” He offered a wide smile, but didn’t seem about to continue.

        Harley hesitated. “…Will you tell me?”       

        The man’s smile widened. “ _If_   you can answer a riddle.”

        “A riddle?”

        “What is no sooner spoken than broken?”

        Harley stared.

The man smiled smugly. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s certainly not happening her-“

        “NYGMA!”

         The man, as well as Harley, jumped. An infuriated woman stomped up to them, clutching a handful of yellow pencils -wrapped in red ribbon- so hard her knuckles were white. Even her sleek blonde ponytail seemed to quiver with anger.

        The man, Nygma, Harley noted, smiled nervously. “Hello, Kristen. I see you found the present I left for you.”

        Harley didn’t think it was possible for the woman to be any redder. “How many times have I told you to stay out of my office? How many times have I told you to leave me alone?!”

        Nygma’s face immediately fell, he bowed his head, like a child being scolded.

        The woman turned to look at Harley, face softening. “Is he harassing you with riddles? Don’t worry, he does it to everyone. What do you need?”

        “M-my name is Harley,” Harley stuttered, a little more than afraid of this Kristen’s temper. “I applied for an internship here.”

        “Ah.” Kristen smiled. “You need to talk to the Captain then. Follow me.” She made her way towards the stairs of the upper level of the station, the officers parting to make a way for her. Maybe they know the wrath of her fury as well as Nygma does, Harley mused, following her.

        She turned suddenly, facing the downcast Nygma once more. “Hey,” She called. Nygma lifted his head, disappointment shining in his eyes.

        “It’s silence. The answer is silence.” Nygma grinned suddenly, offering a small giggle as reward for the correct answer. He then turned abruptly on his heel and scurried out of sight.

        _What a strange man_. _I like him._ Harley thought, as she continued following Kristen up the staircase to Captain Essen’s office.


	2. Meeting Captain Essen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More introductions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the encouragement! And thank you for reading!

“Hello, I’m Captain Essen. You must be Harleen, the new intern?” Essen stood from behind her desk and extended a hand.

        “Please, everyone calls me Harley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Harley shook her hand and offered a sincere smile.

        “Now, what is the reason you applied for this internship?”

        “Well, I plan on studying to be a psychiatrist when I go to college full time, but I hope to specialize in criminal psychology.”

        Essen’s brow furrowed. “Why criminal psychology? Most people in Gotham like to pretend that crime doesn’t exist.”

        Harley’s smile faltered for a moment, then regained its charm. “I don’t know, I supposed that I might as well understand it if I were to be surrounded by it. So by taking this job I hoped to sit in on interrogations mostly, maybe help out with a few investigations.”

        Essen walked around her desk and leaned on it. “How old are you?”

        “Seventeen, ma’am.”

        “You’re seventeen? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

        Harley chuckled nervously. “I’ve always been rather driven, ma’am, so I finished all my high school requirements last year. I’m taking a few college classes before I graduate, but most of my day is free.”

        “I see. Well, we’re very glad to have you aboard, Miss Quinzel. For the most part, you’ll be helping around the precinct, likely in records with Miss Kringle here,” She motioned to Kristen, who Harley had almost forgotten when they entered the office. “Or with Mr. Nygma in forensics. And if you’re up for some blood and guts, Dr. Thompkins, our medical examiner might need some help with autopsies.”

        _You have no trouble with blood and guts, do you?_  

        Harley shook the thought voice away. “Thank you, I’m hoping to learn a lot here.”

        “We’re glad to have a young person so interested in what keeps criminals off the streets.” Essen smiled. “Miss Kringle, you and Mr. Nygma can decide amongst yourselves where Harley will be better off spending most of her time. Either your office or his. You two have a good day.”

        As they exited the office, Kristen took a tight hold on Harley’s jacket sleeve. “Look,” She snarled, and Harley noted how her pointed glasses made her look quite dragon-like. “I’ve worked too hard in this male-dominated workplace to have some little snot-nosed teenager drag me down. Whenever anyone needs any information, they come to me. And I’m not about to let you into my office, screwing things up and misfiling important information. Nygma’s office is down the hall there, you can be the victim of all the incessant riddles instead of me for a change.”

        Harley looked her up and down. _Overprotective over the organization of her files, immaculate dressing and hygiene. Possible compulsions. Views men as things to be beaten, overcome. Despises the polite attention of Nygma. Distrust of men points to plausible fatherhood issues. Pressure point found._

        Harley smiled casually. “I appreciate your honesty with me, Miss Kringle. Don’t worry, I have no intention of intruding upon your work. Your career is very impressive to me. Your father must be so proud of you.”

        Kristen’s face contorted in a moment of pain, as if an unpleasant memory had returned to her. She scoffed suddenly before turning to leave.

        Harley grinned, smug, as she headed down the hall to Mr. Nygma’s office.  _And who said that psychology wasn’t a real science?_


	3. "We Got a Body"

Harley strolled casually down the hallway, glancing at the nameplates above the doors, and soon found “Edward Nygma: Forensics”. _Here we are, Harley-girl._

          She knocked and entered slowly. “Hello, Mr. Nygma, we met a few minutes ago-“

          “Quick! Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Nygma shouted, without once looking up from his microscope.

          “Because both can produce a few notes, but they’re all rather flat.” Harley scoffed. “Of course I’ve read _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_.”

          Nygma looked up at her and grinned. “Many people have. But only the good ones read the author’s preface. What can I help you with?”

          “My name’s Harley Quinzel, I’m the new intern. We met a few minutes ago on the main floor.”

          “Ah, yes. But what brings you to my tiny hidey-hole, far from the main traffic?” He turned back to his microscope, but she could tell that he was waiting for her reply.

          “Captain Essen decided that I’d either be spending most of my time with you or Miss Kringle. And Miss Kringle told me plain and simple that I’d be in her way, honestly, I don’t know what her problem is-“

          Nygma slapped his hand on the table. “Please don’t say anything against Miss Kringle. I won’t stand for it.”

          Harley pulled a chair up beside him. “Why? From what I’ve seen she treats you terribly, she’s rude to everyone who crosses her path.”

          He turned to look at her and she saw a ferocity in his eyes that she didn’t think possible. “Don’t say anything against Miss Kringle. I know she doesn’t appreciate me or my work, but these things take time, she’ll warm up in the end,” He muttered, more to himself than to Harley. “She will, you’ll see.” There was an uncomfortable silence.

          “Oh,” Harley said softly. “I see. You’re in love with her.”

          Nygma blushed furiously and continued looking through the microscope. Harley saw an opportunity, an opportunity to get the files she needed. To try and understand.

          “You know, if you wanted,” Harley began. “I could talk to her. Find out what she likes.”

          “I know what she likes,” Edward almost pouted. “She likes police officers. She likes big, burly, unintelligent monkeys who like to-“

          The door flew open. An older man with a fedora and a grizzled beard poked his head in. “Let’s go, Ed! We got a body!” The man cocked his head. “Who’s your friend?”

          Harley stood while Nygma scurried around the lab getting supplies and stuffing them haphazardly into his bag. “I’m Harley, the new intern.”

          “Well, that’s gonna get confusing real fast. My name is Harvey. Harvey Bullock.”

          “Oh,” Harley smiled. “I’ve read about you in the papers.”

          Harvey grunted. “Yeah, that’s Jim’s fault. Let’s go, Ed! And I suppose you’re going too, newbie.”     

          Harley grinned. “I guess so.”

          Harvey left, bellowing as he walked down the hallway. “Where’s Jim? Jim, we got a body! We gotta go! God, he’s probably out getting me in more trouble.”

          Harley smirked, listening to him mutter until his voice became lost in the noise of the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited a little towards the end to give more dialogue to Harvey, and to set up the next chapter. :)


	4. An Awkward Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments! And thank you so much for reading. Feel free to comment any suggestions/questions. I love me some feedback.

          “Miss Quinzel!” Nygma shouted, rummaging through the closet, pushing aside multiple lab coats on hangers.

          “Yes?”

          “Go ask Dr. Thompkins if she has any more boxes of gloves. Latex, please. Not rubber.”

          “Sure thing! Mr. Nygma, we better get going. They’re going to leave us.” Harley chuckled to herself before leaving the lab, and finding the nameplate that read: “Dr. Leslie Thompkins: Medical Examiner”. She knocked once and entered.

          She then instantly regretted not waiting for a reply. A woman, assumedly Dr. Thompkins, and a man she didn’t know had been in the middle of a kiss.

          “Oh!” Harley said, rather stupidly. “I’m sorry, I was just-“

          The woman had stepped quickly away from the man, trying to recover the situation. “What can I help you with?”

          The man turned to Harley, looking more than a little irritated. “More importantly, who are you?”

          Harley blushed. “My name is Harley Quinzel, I’m the new intern. Mr. Nygma sent me to see if you had any latex gloves.” She could almost wince, knowing how stupid she sounded.

          Thankfully, the woman smiled. “Welcome. I’m Dr. Thompkins, and this is James Gordon, detective.”

          “Oh, Detective Bullock is looking for you.” Harley added. Gordon left hurriedly, seemingly glad for an excuse to leave.

          “Now,” Dr. Thompkins smiled gently. “What was it that you needed?”

          “Latex gloves for Mr. Nygma. We’re leaving for a crime scene soon.”

          Thompkins turned away, opening a cabinet behind her and rummaging through it.

          “I’m also, uh, sorry for interrupting, Dr. Thompkins.” Harley stared at her feet.

          Thompkins laughed. “Please, call me Leslie. Now, what are you an intern for?”

          “Practically anything. I’m spending most of my time with Nygma in forensics, sitting in on a few interrogations, and, if you’ll allow me, helping you with autopsies.”

          “That sounds like fun. My usual companions during autopsies aren’t very talkative.” Leslie smiled, handing her a box of gloves. “Might be a good time get off on a better note as well. Now, despite his constant tardiness, Nygma is  probably waiting on you now. You better get going.”

          Harley smiled. She had instantly liked Leslie. “Thanks, Dr. Thompkins.” She said, heading towards the door.

          “Leslie!”

          Harley turned around in the doorway. “Leslie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Jim-Leslie moment, because I love Leslie so much more than Barbara. :)


	5. The Heartless Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter yet! Thanks for reading, commenting, and bookmarking! :)

          Harvey pulled the tarp off the corpse in the damp alleyway that had become their crime scene. “Male, about thirty, no ID. Looks like our typical mob knock-off.”

          “’Knock-off’?” Harley questioned.

          “Yeah,” Harvey grunted. “You piss off the right people, or owe them money, and they knock you off.”

          “Ah.”

          Nygma thrust a camera in her hands. “Take pictures of what I tell you,” He said, pulling a set of gloves over his hands, enjoying the crisp _snap_ they made when he let them go. “Head.” Harley snapped a picture. “Lacerations around the neck and jaw line. Bloodied knuckles.” _Click. Click._ “Bloodstains on the shirt. This looks like cause of death is a combination of a beating by hand and strangling.”

          Harley circled the body to get a better angle and noticed something. “Mr. Nygma?”

          “Yes?” He didn’t bother looking up from the victim’s shoes, taking a sample bag from his pocket. “Feel free to take pictures of anything you think might be important. Get the hang of it.”

          “Mr. Nygma, the carotid appears to be slit.” Harley stared off, recalling a similar detail from a handful of years ago. Her stomach turned.

          Nygma’s head shot up and he grinned. “Really? How deliciously different.” He said, scurrying over to stand next to her and gazing at the victim’s neck. “How refreshingly interesting.” He paused. “Miss Quinzel, are you all right? You look pale.”

          Harvey clapped her on the back. “I know how you feel. The first body’s always the hardest, always the grossest. If you gotta hurl, please cross the yellow tape first. Avoid contaminating the scene.”

          Harley could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “It’s not that,” She choked. “Unbutton his shirt. His heart’s gone.”

          Harvey and Nygma stared at her. Thankfully, Harvey didn’t question her, only motioned to Nygma to open the body’s shirt. Nygma’s gloved hands gingerly undid the buttons.

          The left side of the man’s chest was hacked completely open, the lung pushed aside, revealing cracked ribs. Nygma gasped in awe.

          “It’s… immaculate. Someone knew what they were doing. Only the ribs that blocked access were broken.” He reached his hand into the cavity and Harley heard Harvey suppress a gag. “Nothing else seems to be missing. Our man here had his carotid slit, which caused him to bleed out like a pig. Due to the little amount of blood at the removal site, it looks like he was almost dry as a bone before the heart was removed. A very methodical murder, I must say. This isn’t the mob.”

          Nygma glanced at Harley, head cocked questioningly. “How did you know about this?”

          “These happened four about years ago. I remember hearing about it on the news, bodies showing up, missing hearts. But they caught him, and he-” Harley swallowed. “He killed himself later in Arkham. Called him the Heartless Killer.”

          “Ah,” Edward said. “Four years ago was before my time here. That’s why I didn’t recognize it.”

          “Uh, excuse us, Ed.” Harvey was suddenly standing behind her, a tightening hand on her shoulder. “I’m gonna borrow Harley for a bit. I have a job for her.”

          Ed saluted with a blood-streaked glove. “Fine by me! I’ll continue poking around here.” He looked back down at the body. “Wanted to get something off your chest, did you?” He exploded in a fit of giggles.

          Bullock pulled Harley away, guiding the both of them down the alley, away from the scene.

          “What job did have for me, Detective Bullock?”

          Harvey’s mouth became a tense, straight line. As they rounded the corner of a building, out of sight from Edward and the rest of the team. He took hold of her jacket sleeve and pushed her roughly against the brick wall, huge hands pinned her shoulders.

          “What do you know about the Heartless Killings?” He yelled.

          “What?” Harley replied, terrified.

          “The information about the slit artery was never released! How did you know about it?”

          Harley’s eyes widened with realization. _How could you be so stupid?_ She could kick herself for such a mistake.

           She scoffed. “Are you seriously considering me a suspect?”

          Bullock’s eyes narrowed.  “You tell me. How interesting that some guy gets his heart yanked out _the very night before_ we get a new intern that knows unreleased information from a case closed four years ago!” He shoved his forearm across her collarbone, keeping her pinned, but freeing up a hand. He pointed a finger in her face. “You tell me what you know about the Heartless Killings.” His voice dropped dangerously, and Harley hung her head.

          “Okay.”

          Harvey waited, raised an eyebrow.

          Harley took a deep breath. “Do you remember the guy that they caught the first time? Remember his name?”

          “Yeah, Howard something. Crazy last name.”

          “Crazy last name, like ‘Quinzel’?”

          “Quinzel…” Bullock’s eyes widened. “He was-“

          “My father. I found out the details when he was arrested. Call it a family perk.” Harley spat, bitter. “Now I’d appreciate if you’ll let me go. My father is dead, so it’s not like it’s him again. It’s not like I know who did this.”

          Bullock’s arm moved immediately. “I’m sorry.”

          She looked up at him. “Please, just don’t mention it to anyone else. I worried that this would follow me if I joined the GCPD, I never thought it would catch up to me so soon.”

          Harvey rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.“Yeah, no problem. Jesus, I’m sorry.”

          “It’s fine. Let’s get back to the crime scene.” She walked away, leaving Bullock behind her, still trying to figure out what had just taken place.

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wrote Bullock well enough. He's such a unique character. I hope the similarity between Harley and Harvey didn't trip anyone up.  
> How'd everyone feel about the reveal about Harley's dad? With so little developed of Harley's past, I get a lot of wiggle room with her backstory. :)


	6. A Mismatched Pair of Friends

          The days became monotonous after the first body. Harley would come into the precinct in the mornings, and the first few hours were spent exchanging riddles with Nygma while working forensics, until the call of another body came. The afternoons passed quickly, investigating crime scenes and helping Dr. Thompkins with autopsies.

          The victims’ wounds were all the same; slit arteries, opened chest, hearts carefully removed. But the victims themselves varied immensely. Men, women, as young as 17, old as 50.

          Two weeks after the first victim, Harley walked into the precinct as usual, dropped her bag behind Nygma’s desk, and settled herself into her usual spot in the lab.

          “You know,” Nygma began, writing in yet another file. “Employees aren’t supposed to lie on the tables usually reserved for our less than lively guests.”

          Harley chuckled and propped her head on her hands. “Yes, that’s likely true, but you like me too much to be stern with me.”

          Nygma tried to frown, but Harley could see his eyes smile behind his glasses.

          “So, Mr. Nygma.”

          He lifted his head. “Yes?”

          “Tell me why you like Kristen.” Nygma almost dropped his pen, but quickly recovered.

          “Now, why would I tell you that?”

          Harley sat halfway up, propped up on her elbows. “Because we’re friends. And I’m good at keeping secrets.”

          Nygma felt a warmth in his chest that he had not felt in a long while. “You consider us friends?”

          Harley laughed. “Well, as much as a teenage girl and a man in his thirties can be.”

          “I’m twenty-eight, thank you.”

          “Still. I consider us a rather mismatched pair of friends. And I don’t really have many friends my age anyway.”

          Nygma cocked his head and Harley could see his mind trying to un-puzzle her. “Why?”

          “I asked a question first, Mr. Nygma,” Harley grinned. “Why do you like Kristen?”

          Nygma cleared his and averted his eyes. “She smells nice, and she’s pretty. She’s organized.” He held up the file. “Go give this to Jim. It has the forensics results.”

          Harley frowned. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She took the file and left, leaving Nygma alone to smile softly at his rare achievement of making a friend.

          Harley headed up the stairs to the upper level, where the detective desks were. Jim’s desk was unoccupied, but Harvey sat across from it, glasses on, reading the newspaper.

          “Hey, Harvey.”

          Bullock looked up. “You know, the media’s having a field day with this. Everyone’s freaking out about the second Heartless Killer.”

          “I know. Where’s Jim? I have the file he wanted.”

          “He’s in the Captain’s office, talking to her and some hot shot attorney.”

          “Attorney?”

          “Yeah. About publicity, and how to handle the killings, that kind of stuff. The public’s more freaked out than they have been in years.”

          “I know,” Harley replied, sitting in Jim’s desk chair. “Mind if I wait for him here?”

          “It’s all yours. I’m, uh, sorry about our last conversation.”

          “It’s fine. You’re just doing your job. I can’t really expect you to know every single case front to back. You know the one thing that really bothers me about the whole thing?”

          Harvey propped his feet up on his desk. “What?”

          “They still have no idea why he did it. He admitted to it freely, but never gave any clue as to why. And then he killed himself.”

          Harvey pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Sometimes there is no reason at all. At least, not one that we can see.”

          “I guess so.” The Essen’s office door opened, and Jim stepped out. Eager to stop talking about her father, Harley jumped up to meet him.

          “Hey, Detective Gordon, I have the file with the most recent forensics report.”

          A second person exited Essen’s office, and casually took the file from Harley before Jim could stop him.

          “And who might you be?” The man grinned cheekily down at her.

          Harley choked. “Har- Harley Quinzel. Intern,” She said, blushing scarlet.

          He was so… beautiful. His brown eyes reminded her of honey, liquid and mesmerizing. His dark hair was parted and combed back perfectly, accentuating his clean-shaven face.

          He reached a hand out to her. “Harvey Dent. Assistant District Attorney. If you have to work with these two on a regular basis,” He gestured to Gordon and Bullock. “I’m quite sorry for you.”

          He flipped through the file, and whistled. “This is some grisly stuff.”

          Gordon snatched the file before Dent could turn any more pages. “Thanks, Harley. Did you need anything else?”

          “Nope. So I’ll be back to the lab, seeing if I can help Nygma.”

          “You shouldn’t hide back in the morgue so much. It’ll drive you crazy, being around the dead more than the living.” Dent smirked.

          _Is he seriously flirting with you?_ “I appreciate the concern, Mr. Dent, but I’ll be fine.” She smiled before turning on her heel and heading down the stairs.

          “Goodbye, Miss Quinn.”

          “It’s Quinzel.”

          She could tell without looking that Dent was wearing that cheeky grin again. “I hope to see you again, Miss Quinzel.”

          _He’s quite the flirt, isn’t he, Harley-girl?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no explanation as to where this chapter came from. At all. It was supposed to be a "Harley getting used to the routine" sort of chapter, then it ended up quite far away from that. 
> 
> The small crush Harley has on Harvey Dent is just kind of a grounding trait. That despite being very mature and strong from going through a lot of terrible things, in some aspect, she's still a teenager. And Harvey's just a young, smooth-talking politician.


	7. A Conversation Over A Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie and Harley discuss their Friday night plans during an autopsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little quick chapter, to help speed along the plans I have for later. This is to reveal a little about Harley, and how Leslie tries to get her to open up.

          “How are you, Harley?” Leslie smiled, pulling on a pair of gloves.

          “I’m fine. How are you, Dr. Thompkins?”

          Leslie’s face was stern for a moment, before grinning. “I told you to call me Leslie.”  
          “Okay,” Harley said. “How are you doing, _Leslie_?”

          Leslie laughed. “I’m fine. And thank you.”

          “Any plans tonight?”

          “Hmm, probably dinner with Jim, and maybe watching TV.”

          “Ooooooooh,” Harley cooed mischievously. “How are you and Jim?”

          “Hand me a scalpel, please. We’re fine. What about you? You interested in anyone at school? We always end up talking about me when we do autopsies.”

          “Leslie,” Harley laughed. “It’s one in the afternoon. If I went to school, where do you think I should be right now?”

          Leslie rolled her eyes. “I knew that. So are you talking to someone? Is that what the kids call dating these days? ‘Talking’?”

          “No matter what age you are, you always show your age when you use the phrase ‘kids these days’. Do you need the bone saw?”

          Leslie looked up from the body to glance at Harley. “You’re avoiding the question, Harley. Is this a topic you don’t want to discuss?”  
          Harley glanced down at the young woman on the table, smoothed her hair. “I don’t know; I was best friends with a guy before I left high school. We were inseparable, and I knew he liked me, but I just never went for it.”

          “And you’re not friends anymore?”

          “He’s not really around anymore.”

          Leslie, sensing she hit a nerve, changed the subject. “What are your plans for tonight, being a Friday?”

          Harley looked up and shrugged. “Maybe getting dinner somewhere and sitting on the computer for a few hours in my apartment.”

          “Your apartment? We might need the saw to open this up further.”

          “Yeah, I was legally emancipated from my mother when I was seventeen. Happy birthday to me.”

          “Why would you want to leave your mother?”

          “Well, she wasn’t exactly the best parent after my dad died, so I’ve basically raised myself for the past few years. Last year I thought I might as well make it official.”

          Leslie studied her face before she could notice. There was not happiness in her face, despite sounding content with living alone.

          “Well, I’m proud for you. You seem to have everything together.”

          Harley smiled down at the table. “Yeah, I guess I do.”


	8. The Fearsome Doctor Crane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley asks a favor of Leslie. Just a little short chapter.

          “Dr. Thompkins?”

          Leslie smiled behind the clear plastic face mask. “Harley, I’ve asked you a dozen times to call me Leslie.”

          “Okay. Leslie?”

          Leslie stopped the bone saw abruptly, leaving the skull half-intact on the body they were autopsying. “Yes?”

          “Do you still have clearance to Arkham?”

          “Yes, why?” Her brow furrowed. “I know you’re curious, but Arkham can be a pretty disturbing place.”

          “No, it’s not that. It’s just… Never mind.”

          “Harley.” Leslie’s eyes bored into her, demanding the truth. Harley wondered if this is what a mother’s eyes should look like.

          “I- I have a friend there. In the youth wing. They won’t let me visit him. I wondered if you could let me in to see him.”

          “Who is it?”

          “His name’s Jonathan. Do you remember a few months ago the man that was killing people using their worst fears?”

          “Yes. I think so.”

          “That was his father, Dr. Crane, trying to use hormones in the glands of the victims. He thought he was developing a serum to conquer fear. He injected Jonathan with a huge dose of it, and it did irreversible damage to the fear receptors of his brain. There was nothing that could be done, so he was admitted to Arkham.

          “Please, Leslie. I just want to see him. To see what’s left of him. He was my best friend.”

          Leslie pursed her lips, thinking, considering the friend she’d mentioned in their previous conversation. “Okay.”


	9. Scarecrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read a lot of Lauralot's Batman fics (They're amazing, look them up), and I love the idea of Harley and Jonathan being friends. Though they meet much later than this in her fics, I just wanted to include Jonathan, because he's my favorite.

“Doctor Leslie Thompkins. And guest.” Leslie flashed her Arkham ID at the guard. “Here to see Jonathan Crane.”

          The heavyset guard leaned back in his chair, obviously bored. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

          “This is my intern at the GCPD, Harley Quinzel, studying psychology. We’re just going to do a basic evaluation, for education’s sake.”

          The guard pressed a button in the guard station, sounding a buzzer and opening the gate. “There’ll be a guard in the hallway to open the cell if you plan on going inside. But I wouldn’t. The kid’s violent. I’d just look through the glass if I were you.”

          Harley gritted her teeth. _Now’s not the time for tears, Harley-girl._ She followed Leslie down the hallway.

          Jonathan was in the last room on the left, a room with a small door and a large glass viewing window.

          “They’ve got him in there like a zoo animal.” Harley muttered, her voice breaking. She could tell that Leslie was looking at her, and she tried hard to blink back tears. “Staring in at him, not offering him any privacy.”

          Jonathan was sitting on a small cot, knees drawn to his chest, leaning into the corner. His face was sickly in comparison to the dirty white straightjacket he was wearing, his arms pulled across his chest.

          In all the time that Harley looked at him, he never stopped shaking. He twitched and shook, eyes darting all over the room at creatures that Harley couldn’t see. He talked nervously to himself or the hallucinations, occasionally crying out and flinching.

          This was Jonathan. This was her Jonathan. This was her Jonathan, from seventh grade, tall and awkward, the shy new kid. Her Jonathan, from freshman year when she asked him to homecoming so he wouldn’t be lonely and stay at home. Her Jonathan that she snuck a kiss from, because she knew he had never had one. This was her Jonathan, ashamed and bruised, asking if he could spend the night because his father was drunk again. This was her Jonathan from four months ago, calling her nervously because his father kept disappearing into the night and returning with blood on his clothes.

          The tears were flowing freely now. Harley refused Leslie’s embrace, wiping furiously at her eyes. _Way to be professional, Harley._ “Could I see him? Would it- would it be alright if I went inside?”

          Leslie motioned wordlessly to the guard, who opened the door for her. She stepped inside.

          “Jonathan?” He didn’t seem to be aware of her presence. She crossed the room cautiously and sat on the opposite end of the bed.

          Jonathan cried out loudly, screaming something that she couldn’t understand. She reached out to him with one hand and he cowered before her. A sob escaped Harley’s throat before she could stop it.

          “Jonathan…”

          “No! No, please! Don’t!” Jonathan’s eyes widened in terror, but he wasn’t looking at her.

          Harley wanted to take his hand, but they were imprisoned within the sleeves of the straightjacket. She settled on putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, then as if sensing that she meant him now harm, he almost calmed.

          She moved closer to him, still crying, and he let her. She took his face in her hands tenderly, trying to find her best friend in his eyes.

          “Jonathan? Jonathan? It’s Harley.” His eyes never made contact with hers, constantly darting around the room, watching the hallucinations.

          “Jonathan, it’s me, it’s Harley.” Suddenly he screamed again, and tried to move away from her, but couldn’t. He began to cry in terror. Harley held his face closer to hers. “Jonathan, please.”

          His eyes widened for a moment, looking directly at her, tears streaming down his face. “H- Harley?”

          Harley smiled through her tears. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.” Jonathan’s breathing was ragged, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she hugged him.

          “Harley.”

          “Yes, it’s Harley. I love you. I want you to know that I love you. You’re my best friend.”

          He began shaking against her shoulder and when she looked at him again, he was gone. Any recognition of her was overruled by his terror.

          She held him against her, hoping that she provided some sort of comfort to him. “What is it, Jonathan? What’s going to hurt you?”

          “Scarecr- Scarecrow.”

          She held him tighter, not knowing what to do. “Do you want me to sing? You always liked it when I sang.”

          “Scarecrow.”

          “Jonathan?”

          No answer.

          Harley sniffled, held him, stroked his hair, and shakily began to sing.

_“_ _I could while away the hours_ _/_ _conferring with the flowers_ _/_ _consulting with the rain._ _/_ _And my head I'd be scratching while_ _/ my thoughts were busy hatching / if I only had a brain. / I'd unravel every riddle for any individual / in trouble or in pain. / With the thoughts I'd be thinking / I could be another Lincoln / if I only had a brain…”_

Harley looked down. Jonathan was asleep. She gingerly stood up and went to the door, wiping stray tears from her face.

          The guard that let her out sighed. “I don’t know how you did it. He always has to be heavily sedated to get any sleep. Poor kid. He just sits there and mutters all the time. I can’t imagine what it’s like in his head, seeing things that terrify you every minute.”

          Harley wiped her nose. “Please, whatever you do, take care of him until I can.”

          The guard tipped his hat before locking the door. “I will, ma’am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to include the Scarecrow's song from The Wizard of Oz. Just had to. :)  
> Feel free to leave a comment! I love feedback. Thanks for reading!


	10. A Letter From The Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley will learn information about her father and his motives for the Heartless Killings that will shake every belief that she ever had about him.

“It’s almost unbearable to see him that way.” Harley whispered. Leslie put an arm around her shoulder and hoped it would give her comfort.

          “Come on, let’s go.”

          As they passed, the guard tapped the window. “Excuse me, you said your name was Quinzel?”

          Harley swallowed. “Yes.”

          “Any relationship to Howard Quinzel?”

          “Yes,” Harley forced out the word. “He was my father.”

          “Well, you should go to the main office. No one ever came to pick up his belongings.”

          “Thank you,” Her voice was devoid of emotion. “I will.” She continued walking, and heard Leslie follow behind her.

          Leslie’s voice was soft, cautious. “Your father was in here?”

          Harley did her best to sound nonchalant. “Yes, he committed suicide here.”

          “My God. I’m sorry.”

          “It’s fine. I’m just trying to understand.”

          “Understand?” The click of their feet on the tile floor was maddeningly loud.

          “His insanity. Why he did what he did.”

          Thankfully, Leslie didn’t ask. This was enough sharing as it was. They had reached the office, and Harley stepped forward to the desk.

          “Hello, my name is Harley Quinzel. Howard Quinzel was my father, and I’m here to pick up his belongings. I apologize for not picking them up sooner.”

          The nurse behind the desk pursed her lips. “Sooner, as in, sometime within the last five years?”

          “Four years. And if you can imagine, it’s more than a little painful.”

          The nurse blushed, ashamed. “Of course. I apologize. I’ll go get them.” She stood and went back into an adjoining room. She returned with a small cardboard box, marked: “Quinzel, Howard”.  And under the name, scribbled hurriedly, as if someone wanted to put it away as quickly as possible, was one word.

          “Deceased.”

          Harley accepted the box, thanked the nurse, and turned to Leslie. “Thank you for taking me to see Jonathan. I think I’m ready to leave.” Her voice lacked any emotion.

          Leslie looked at her, pity in her eyes. “Okay.”

          Harley swallowed. “It seems I’ve gotten a little more than I expected on this trip.” 

          They rode back to the precinct in silence, and Harley walked home. When she got inside the apartment and bolted the door, her hands were already shaking. Gingerly, she lifted the lid off the box.

          Two items. It was empty except for two items.

          The first, a picture that brought tears to her eyes, a picture of her eighth birthday, before her father’s crimes and insanity, before her mother’s downward spiral.

          The second, an envelope, addressed “Harley-girl” on the outside. She opened it gently and took out the letter, her breathing ragged and hoarse. Her father’s handwriting, small and slanted, stared up at her.

          _“My Harley,_

_I know by now you’ve realized that I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I know that they’re saying that the only way someone could have done this is insanity. If believing that makes it easier for you, stop reading right now.”_

          Harley hesitated. Believing that is easier than what?

          _“The truth, Harley-girl, is that I’ve done these terrible things for you and your mother. But mainly for you.”_

          Her breath hitched in her chest and she dropped the letter. It floated slowly down to the table, and remained open. There wasn’t much choice but to continue.

          _“I haven’t been able to make much of a life for you, I know, and I have regretted that with every fiber of my being. I knew you had big dreams of your life, and I knew that the world I had built around you would hinder them, and I’m sorry._

_“I heard from someone that there was a man paying big for certain jobs to be done, certain items to be collected. I didn’t know that meant murder. But by the time I had found out, it was too late to turn back. And I kept on for you._

_“They started calling me the Heartless Killer, as you know. I’m sorry for what I had to do to make sure you had a stable future, but given the chance to do it over, I’d do it again. And it’s the lack of regret that has labeled me as a psychopath and landed me here, among the insane._

_“But there’s something you or even your mother doesn’t know. I’m dying. Slowly but surely, there’s a tumor putting deadly pressure on my brain, and I was told there was nothing I could do.”_

Harley became vaguely aware that she was sobbing.

          _“I didn’t tell anyone, I knew that I had enough time to get my affairs in order. I became a killer for profit in order to put something away for you. I know they’re going to kill me before I can give the authorities any information. I expect it any day now. I’m writing this because after I’m gone I want you to know what I knew about my employer. And I know you want to know what happened to the hearts. Because everyone wanted to know what happened to the hearts._

_“They call him The Dollmaker. I never met him directly, but I heard rumors that he used the organs for black market transplants. He ran a hospital on an isolated island somewhere, with a basement full of ‘donors’ kept against their will. But, occasionally, he needed to outsource to Gotham. And that was my job, to find what he needed._

_“I want you to take this to the police, Harley. The Dollmaker has to be stopped. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Dying in a cage, a prisoner. I deserve to be a prisoner, I know what I did was wrong. But in this city, is there anything that isn’t somewhat wrong?_

_“Be careful with this information, Harley. The Dollmaker and his associates likely know that you are my daughter. Do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. Make sure that you can trust who you give this letter to. And you can’t always trust an everyday policeman in Gotham._

_“I love you, Harley-girl. I love you so much more than you know. Enclosed is the account number and the bank address where your savings are. I hope you use them, but I understand if you can’t._

_“Your father,_

_“Howard Quinzel”_

          Harley stared. The tears had stopped, replaced by a cold numbness. Suddenly, she felt exhausted.

          She stood from the table, gathered the box and its contents in her hands, and hid them safely in her room. She collapsed on her bed.

          _I need to take that letter to Bullock. He’ll know what to do._ She thought, before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it, guys? Pretty intense? I hope so. :)   
> Feel free to comment! I love feedback!


	11. "I Won't"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley takes her father's letter to Bullock, hoping desperately that she can trust him.

Harley climbed the stairs tentatively, unsure. _Is this the right thing to do?_ She thought. _You know he can be crooked when he wants to._

_He hasn’t told anyone that my father was a serial killer._

_Tread lightly, Harley-girl._

          “Hey, Harvey?”

          Bullock raised his head from his notebook. “Yeah? What can I help you with?”

          “Can I talk to you? In private? It’s some heavy stuff.”

          Harvey raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

          “My dad.” Harvey stood immediately, quickly pulling Harley by an arm and leading her down the stairs, sweeping her into an abandoned room and locking the door.

          “Detective Bullock, the men’s locker room?” Harley questioned, looking around.

          Harvey laughed roughly. “I guess so. I didn’t really think about it. This is usually where I have to drag Jim if he’s getting in too deep somewhere. It’s rarely occupied.” He sat down on a bench. “What do you need?”

          Harley wordlessly handed him her father’s letter, unable to find the words to explain. Harvey unfolded it, squinted at the small writing, and took out his glasses.

          Harley paced. This was her, putting herself in danger for her father, dead for four years. This was her, coming to a crooked cop for help because she somehow knew she could trust him. This was her, confronting all the pain she’d felt at the abandonment, the shame she’d felt when her father was arrested. This was her, struggling with the realization that it was never abandonment, but sacrifice. Her father was never insane, he was only driven by unconditional love for his daughter to do horrible things in order to help build her a future. A future that he wouldn’t be a part of.

          Then she had lost Jonathan. Her best friend, as messed up and broken as her. He had moved to Gotham soon after her father’s death, and hadn’t known until she had told him. And he had told her how they had moved to run away from his mother’s death and his father’s guilt. They relied on each other to suffer through the days, spending every waking moment with each other.  They loved each other in the way that survivors did, loving with all that was left in their bruised and broken hearts. They were each other’s solace from the glaring eyes of those who called them outcasts, from the classmates who whispered about their murdering parents when they were still in earshot.

          She had sensed something wrong when Jonathan kept calling every night, saying his father was still gone. His last sane words to her were over the phone, relieved that Dr. Crane had finally returned home, then he was gone to her. Her best friend buried or destroyed under the crushing weight of a terrifyingly unique injury. And it was like losing her father all over again. Once more, she had lost the very person that she thought no one could take.

          After that she had spent so long, working so hard to organize the chaos, to put the pieces of her life back together. She had woken up every morning for the past four years, pasted on a smile, and did what everyone expected of her, why would it change now? She had spent years putting herself through such hard work, overachieving, because she had a single goal that she was working towards. But now the chaos had shattered once more after Jonathan left her, and it was happening again, but in much smaller pieces than before. It seemed so impossible to even smile now.

          She paced as Harvey read, tears falling silently but surely down her face. She wiped them away, trying to be professional and keep her composure. But this was anything but professional, and now she might as well take it how it was.

          “Oh, my God, Harley. You’ve cracked this wide open-“ Bullock looked up from the letter and noticed her. A flash of something crossed his eyes that Harley had never seen before, a look that seemed very foreign on Bullock’s face.

          He stood and walked to her, wrapping her in his arms. As taken aback as she was, it was immensely comforting, to have someone close again. To have someone hold it together for her when she couldn’t anymore. He held her tightly, and he smelled like spearmint and leather, and she buried her face in his coat and cried out the pain that had been silently building for the past four years. It occurred to her that she had no idea how long it had been since someone had hugged her. She could feel his heart hammering through his jacket, and wondered what he could be nervous or afraid about.

          “I just-“ She blubbered. “I have no idea what to do anymore. I- I thought I had it all figured out; I thought he was insane. And now this-“ She sobbed again.

          She wrapped her arms around him, clinging. He held her tighter. “Don’t worry. Please.”

          “I’m afraid for my life. I’m afraid that they’ll come after me.”

          Harvey rested his chin on her head, eyes slowly brimming, thinking of his own daughter, long gone. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

          Harley’s voice was small and scared, afraid to trust someone, afraid to be on her own. “You won’t?”

          “I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one actually brought tears to my eyes while writing, I love it so much. I'd always imagined Harvey as having a wife and child at some point, but not in the present.


	12. Roses for Harley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullock and Harley try to come up with a plan on how to pursue the Dollmaker, and Nygma does his best to comfort his new friend... when she doesn't really need comforting at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have any suggestions/compliments/criticisms, please feel free to leave a comment. I love reading comments.

Bullock took Harley’s shoulders and held her away from him. “Look, I want you to get cleaned up and go home. I’ll tell Essen that you didn’t feel well and look into any files that have bodies missing vital organs and run the name Dollmaker through the system. I’m not saying anything will turn up, but it’s a start before me and Jim go asking around. This is not leaving the precinct for the moment, so you’re safe. Go home and lock the door and I’ll either call or come check on you tonight, okay?”

          Harley sniffled, wiped her nose. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Harvey’s eyes softened.

          “I don’t want you to worry about anything yet. We’ll get you protected before we start getting in deep. Right now we need to start considering your father’s death a homicide. We need to look into his records at Arkham, see if they did an autopsy.”

          Harley’s voice was small. “Okay.”

          “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Harvey put a hand on her head, lightly ruffling her hair. “Nygma would miss you too much.”

          Harley laughed and Harvey was relieved to see her smile. “You’re right, this is heavy stuff, but we can handle it. Go head home.”

          She nodded and left the room, wiping at her eyes. She headed back to Nygma’s lab, and picked up her bag.

          “I’m sorry, Mr. Nygma, I’m going to head home. I don’t feel at all well.”

          Nygma looked up from his crossword puzzle. “I’m very sorry to hear that, I hope you feel better enough to come in tomorr- Have you been crying?”

          “I’m alright, just a little upset.”

          Nygma stood immediately, brow furrowed. “Has someone been bothering you?”

          “No, I’m fine.”

          “Harley?” His eyes were distraught.

          “Just a death in the family.” She felt guilty lying to Nygma, he truly cared for her, and she for him, but this was better played close to the chest.

          “Oh, I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

          “No, but thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nygma.”

          He waved halfheartedly as she paused in the doorway. “Until then, Miss Quinzel.”

          She walked home, feeling oddly calm and blank. She ran a bath and soaked for a long time, uncharacteristic for her, usually with so many things to do. She dressed and made dinner, sitting in front of the TV.

          Her apartment was small and cheaply furnished, but it was clean and organized, and it was enough for her. She had a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room, what else did she need? Her walls were covered in pictures: her mother, father, grandparents, and her only cousin, Liza. God help her, wherever she was.

          A knock on the door made her jump, and, looking through the peephole, saw it was Harvey. She opened the door and he rolled his eyes. “He insisted on coming to see how you were.”

          “Hello!” Nygma almost shouted, cheery. “How are you faring?”

          Harley smiled. “Nygma, I saw you less than four hours ago.”

          A bouquet of roses was thrust into her hands. “You may wonder why there are three different colors,” He began. “You see, there isn’t a specific color to represent sympathy, so I used a combination of colors. Peach for sincerity, white for honor or reverence of the dead, and yellow is for friendship.” He rocked back on his heels, beaming with a humble pride. Harvey’s sigh made his face fall slightly.

          “Thank you so much, Mr. Nygma. The gesture is so comforting in such a hard time.”

          “Excuse us, Ed, I need to talk to Harley for a minute privately.” Harvey looked impatient.

          “Please, make yourself comfortable on the couch. We’ll be back in a minute.” Harvey led her into the kitchen.

          “What the hell were the roses about?”

          Harley sighed. “He saw that I had been crying. I told him there was a death in the family.”

          “Nice cover. But he overheard me telling Jim that I was going to see you and he absolutely insisted on coming. Then I was dragged to the florist’s to go get those stupid roses.”

          Harley held up the bouquet, gently tracing the petals with a finger. “It was a touching gesture, though.”

          “Look,” Harvey was grave. “I didn’t find much. The name hasn’t been filed under anything before, but a few cases came up with the victims only missing one or two organs, but since they weren’t all done in the same method or area of the city, a connection was never made. If all the cases trace back to the Dollmaker, this has been happening for at least ten years.”

          “Wow,” Harley whispered, awed. “So my father was definitely not the first one hired to do this.”

          “Nope, and it’s likely we’ll never find all those who were. But we might be able to find this Dollmaker guy. Me and Jim have some business downtown tomorrow, so we might end up calling a visit on Cobblepot.”

          “Oswald Cobblepot?”

          Harvey’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, you know him?”

          “I know of him. I pass his club on my way home. I see a few of his men bouncing outside occasionally. I was going home late once, and one of them asked if they could walk me home so that I wouldn’t have any trouble. I was terrified, but for some reason, I said yes. And he was quite kind to me.”

          Harvey let out a short laugh. “Which one was that?”

          “I haven’t a clue, he didn’t ask for my name and he didn’t offer his. A big, burly guy.”

          Harvey leaned against the counter. “So we might need to get you into protective custody tomorrow, but it’ll be hard to choose what cops we can trust, especially if we can’t explain why we’re putting you in for protection.”

          “Have you talked to Essen about it yet?”

          “No, I will tomorrow, before we go talk to Cobblepot.”

          “Harvey?”

          “Yeah, kid?”

          “Can I go with you tomorrow? I don’t really know any of the officers. I only know you and Jim.”

          Harvey sighed. “We’ll see. It would be nice to have my own eye on you instead of another cop, and I don’t think we’ll be getting into any gunfights tomorrow, but I don’t know.”

          “Thanks, Harvey.”

          “No problem. I’ll clear Nygma out of here for you so you can get some sleep.”

          They left the kitchen to find Nygma sitting on the floor in front of her shelves, DVDs strewn around him. Harvey cleared his throat, and he turned around.

          “Oh! I hope you don’t mind, but I saw that your collection had no noticeable organization pattern, so I took the liberty of beginning to sort them by genre, transitioning by similar director or leading actor.”

          Harley laughed. “Thanks, Nygma. I think I can take it from there. I’m going to head to bed soon, though.”

          “Oh, okay,” He stood. “I hope that our visit has lifted your spirits in such a difficult time.”

           Harvey clapped a hand on Nygma's shoulder, leading him towards the door. "Yeah, we'll see you, Harley, sorry for your loss."  
  
          Nygma paused. "Harley, may I ask who in your family died?"  
  
          Harvey pulled Nygma to the door. "No, you may not. Let's go." Nygma looked very confused.  
  
          "Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow! Thank you so much for the roses, Mr. Nygma!" Harley called.   
  
          He smiled and left behind Harvey.  
  
          Harley sighed and chuckled. _Nygma's such a caring person._ She glanced at the DVDs scattered on the floor. _He just has an odd way of showing it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That may or may not be how my DVDs are organized at home...
> 
> I've always liked looking up the meaning of flowers/rose colors, so I decided to implement it. 
> 
> I had to mention Liza in this at least once, she was one of my favorite characters because she was very well characterized for having such a small role. I really pitied her. 
> 
> And there may or may not be some Oswald in the next chapter. :D


	13. My Dear Cousin Liza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald Cobblepot is very unnerved by Harley Quinzel.

          Harley woke screaming early in the morning without remembering what she had dreamt about. She shuffled sleepily to the bathroom, rinsed her face, and looked up into the mirror to see Liza looking back at her. It was startling sometimes, how closely they looked alike without being more closely related. The result of two sisters of one family marrying two brothers of another.

          They had the same full lips, the same soft nose, and the same striking blue eyes. But that was before Liza had dyed her honey-brown hair a darker shade and, a month or so later, promptly disappeared. Harley hoped she was still happy with whatever guy she ran off with. They had never been too close because of the age difference; Liza was two years her senior. And she was always a little too vulgar for Harley’s taste.

          She dressed, ate breakfast and sat for a while, glancing at the vase of roses on her kitchen table. They were beautiful, and seemed to give the room a sense of life that hadn’t been there before.

          She began the long walk that led to the precinct, passed all the clubs that had been roaring the night before, now closed for cleaning. She passed the club called Oswald’s, watching the purple neon umbrella waver in and out of brightness. She wondered if it did that on purpose.

          When she got to the precinct, Jim immediately directed her to Essen’s office, where the Captain and Harvey were waiting.

          She paused at the door, hearing voices shouting. She glanced questioningly back to Jim, and he shrugged. “I have no idea.”

          “I don’t understand what the problem is!” She heard Essen bark.

          “She’s not safe with any of the other cops! You have to trust me on this!”

          “Harvey,” Essen’s voice lowered, Harley and Jim leaned closer to the door. “You’re being paranoid; of course you can trust her to some of the other officers. Why do you care so much about what happens to this girl?”

          Harvey sighed. “She reminds me so much of Rory.”

          Harley looked at Jim. “Who’s Rory?” She mouthed. Jim shrugged. Harley sighed and knocked on the door, entering cautiously. Jim all but ran back to his desk. 

          “Good morning, Detective Gordon said I should come see you?”

          Essen cleared her throat, and sat down. “Yes. Detective Bullock here has briefed me on your current situation, and it is in your best interests that you be put in protective custody. Should we be worried about your mother as well?”

          “No, she left Gotham after I was emancipated.”

          “Well, that’s good. More to appease Detective Bullock than to follow protocol, I have decided that you’ll be going along with him today. But I must warn you that this might be a wrong move, not only having the Dollmaker investigated, but to be an active part in the investigation. But I trust Detective Bullock when it comes to making decisions about your safety.”

          Harley beamed. “Thank you, Captain Essen. I very much appreciate it.”

          Essen sighed. “Get moving. And don’t make me regret this.”

          Harley and Bullock left the office wordlessly. Jim stood as they came out. “What’s the verdict?”

          Bullock clapped her on the back. “She’s coming with us today. You want to check out Cobblepot’s first? Since you owe him so many favors already.”

          Jim sighed. “I guess.”

          The ride to the club was silent and tense, Harley riding in the backseat. When they went through the doors, the smell of clean leather hit them. A large man stepped in their path for a moment, before recognizing Jim and Harvey. “Boss!” He yelled over his shoulder. “Oh, hello again, ma’am,” He said, looking down the large height difference to Harley.

          Harley smiled. _This was the man that walked you home._ “Hello! I never seemed to catch your name during our last meeting.”

          The man smiled. “Most people around here call me Butch.”

          “Well, I never thanked you for walking me home that night. It was a long while ago.”

          The man grinned, sheepish. “It was no problem. I was raised to always make sure that a lady was protected. And to be honest, I’ve kept an eye out for you ever since. You’re quite young to be walking alone so often.”

          “Well, I appreciate it,” She said, turning back to Harvey and Jim. Harvey was silently laughing at her jovial conversation with a mob man, and Jim looked utterly confused.

          “Jim! Welcome!” A small man with black hair hobbled up from a back hallway, his arms outstretched. “It’s always nice to have a visit from you and Detective Bullock. What am I being questioned about toda-“ He glanced over at Harley and stopped dead. “Mother of God,” He whispered, turning white as his shirt collar.

          “Didn’t know you were a religious man, Cobblepot,” Harvey began, taking a step toward him. Cobblepot only clutched the bar for support.

          “Are you alright?” Harley asked.

          The man seemed to choke. “I- You look like someone I used to know. Someone I- I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

          _Someone he knew? Someone he knew that looks like you?_

          Harvey grabbed Oswald roughly by his lapels and sat him on a barstool. “We need to talk.”

          Oswald leaned forward and whispered hurriedly. “I don’t know who she is,” He pointed at Harley, still standing next to Jim in the doorway. “But you need to get her away from me.”

          Harvey almost smiled. Without breaking eye contact with Oswald, he called over his shoulder. “Harley.”

          “Yeah?”

          “Come here and let me introduce you to Oswald Cobblepot.” The black-haired club owner seemed to wilt in his seat. Harley went over, and Jim followed, still perplexed.

          “Harley, this is Oswald Cobblepot, mobster and club owner. Cobblepot, this is Harley Agin, an intern at the GCPD. She wants to be a detective one day, don’t you Harley?

          “Yeah,” She responded, understanding why Harvey was lying about her. They should have come up with a cover before going into the club. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cobblepot.” She extended a hand.

          Oswald smiled weakly and shook it. “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine. Please, have a seat. You too, Jim. Now, what were you going to ask me about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it so far? I'm going to continue this scene, but the chapter was getting a bit long, so I split it in half. Thanks for the comments and kudos! :)


	14. The Eye of a Fish

          “ _’The Dollmaker’?_ ” Cobblepot scoffed. “I haven’t the slightest idea why so many people here love to call themselves by such silly names.”

          “Yeah, _Penguin,_ ” Harvey countered, sipping at his scotch. Cobblepot flushed a deep red.

          “I despise that moniker, and you know it.”He scowled at Harley, as if somehow blaming her for this. “I have never heard of someone called The Dollmaker, nor heard of anyone who-“ He stopped dead, remembering.

          Harvey smiled. “There it is. Who are you thinking of? Someone who didn’t go to a hospital for surgery.”

          Cobblepot’s brow furrowed. “Before Falcone disappeared and Maroni was shot, Fish returned. As I’m sure you remember.”

          “Yeah,” Harvey grunted. “And we’re still working on getting that mess cleaned up.”

          Cobblepot leaned forward. “And you _saw_ Fish.”

          Harvey raised a brow. “Yeah, so?”

          “Notice anything strange, after her weeks-long hiatus from Gotham?”

          Jim gasped softly. “Her eye.”

          Bullock and Harley turned to him. “What?” Harley asked.

          “She had one blue eye and one hazel eye. If it had been there the whole time, I wouldn’t have noticed it so late. Both of her eyes were hazel before, and when she came back, one was electric blue.”

          Harvey turned back to Cobblepot. “Did Fish tell you anything about it?”

          He broke into a brash laugh, then quieted, seeing Bullock’s irritation. “Towards the end, Fish didn’t like me that much. I mean,” He gestured at the room. “This was her club. And it was Butch, her oldest ally, that betrayed her in the end, when he shot her. She fell off the side of the building and that was that. She didn’t have any kind words for me in the end. If you want any information about Fish, I suggest you talk to that disgusting little street urchin she kept as a pet.”

          Jim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Harvey turned around to him. “Who is it?”

          “Selina.”

          “Christ, can she stay out of anything? She’s witnessing murders, getting kidnapped, almost getting assassinated, and now she’s involved with Fish.”

          Jim stood. “Thanks, Cobblepot.  I think that’s all today.”

          “Anything for you, dear friend!” He grinned and held his arms wide in welcome. Bullock began to follow Jim out the door, and then waited for Harley.

          She held out her hand once again. “Thank you for helping, Mr. Cobblepot.” He scowled at her before hobbling away.

          Bullock held the door open for Harley as they left, and Harley paused. “Is it just me, or is he totally hitting on Jim?”

          Harvey let out a barking laugh and refused to tell Jim what was so funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not trying to pull every possible Gotham character into this, but if they wanted information about Fish's last few days, the best bet would be going to Selina. Sorry for the short chapter. Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I appreciate it!


	15. Read Along the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim, Harley, and Bullock try to get in touch with Selina Kyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little cutesy short chapter. Thanks for reading! And feel free to leave comments if you have any complaints or suggestions.

          “So, we’re looking for a woman named Selina?” Harley broke the silence from the backseat.

          Jim sighed. “Not a woman. A teenager on the streets.”

          “This girl’s been kidnapped and witnessed a murder, and she’s my age?”

          “Younger.” Harvey chimed in. Harley’s eyes widened.

          “Well, how do we find her?” Jim braked in front of an modest apartment building. “She must be well off, this is a nice part of town to be living in.”

          Jim scoffed. “Yeah, on my dime.”

          Harley’s brow furrowed. “You’re paying for a girl’s apartment?  
          Bullock laughed. “No, she kicked him out of his apartment, didn’t she, Jim?”  
          “She broke in after I starting spending a lot of time at Dr. Thompkins’. She’s been in and out every once in a while. I still live here.”

          Harvey clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Sure you do.” They followed Jim through the lobby and into an elevator. There was an awkward stillness, with Harvey humming off-key to the bland music. Jim looked uncomfortable.

          The doors opened, and they walked down the hall to the last apartment, Jim unlocking the door and letting them in. Harley was in awe.

          “Why are the windows so big?”

          “I don’t know,” Jim said, glancing at the large circular window in the living room. “I’ve always liked them.” He shuffled around, looking in the rooms. “It doesn’t look like she’s been here in a while.”

          “What do we do?” Harvey asked.

          Jim found a notepad on the kitchen counter and began scribbling. “We leave a note… and hope she comes to us.”

          Bullock and Harley read over his shoulder.

          “ _Dear Cat,_

_All is well with me, how are you?_

_Now, I need you to listen._

_Gotham seems dark._

_Everyone needs hope._

_Read along the lines, then come see me._

_-Jim_ ”

          “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”Harvey scoffed. “Read along the lines?”

          “Danger,” Harley whispered. “The first letter of each line. Nygma showed me. Said it was how he passed notes in school.”

          Jim smiled. “He taught it to me too. And for once I listened to him. I told Cat that my apartment might sometimes be a suspicious place, so we’ve written notes like this. She’ll see it whenever she gets back in.”

          Harvey looked irritated. “Alright, let’s get back to the precinct.”

          “Yeah,” Jim agreed. “It’s getting late.”

          They rode to the precinct in silence. Harley went back to the forensics lab and spent the rest of the day lying on the autopsy table, swapping riddles with Nygma.

          “A man marries twenty women in the same county in one year. None of the women died or divorced him. How?”  
          Nygma cocked his head, considering. “Ah! The man is a minister!”

          Harley grinned. “Nothing stumps you, Nygma! I love that one, my father used to tell it to me when I was small.”

          “Do you live with your father? I’ve come to realize that I know virtually nothing about you, Miss Quinzel.”

          “And I you, Mr. Nygma. No, I live alone. My father died when I was thirteen.” Harley swallowed. This was the first time she’d talked about her father since she’d found the letter.

          Nygma’s face fell. “I’m quite sorry to hear that. My father died when I was twenty. A bit of a drinker, he was.”

          “I’m sorry.”

          “It’s quite alright.” Nygma hung his head, looking down at his desk. “We were never that close. How was your relationship with your father?”

          “We were inseparable when I was a child, or so my mother tells me. He adored his Harley-girl. He was incredibly encouraging as I grew up. The only trouble we had was the few months before his death.”

          Thankfully, Nygma didn’t ask. She swung her legs over the table and stood, preparing to leave. “It’s getting late, Mr. Nygma. You should be thinking of going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

          “Wait.”

          Harley turned in the doorway. He had stood, hair hanging in his face. He walked over to her, slowly, almost scaring her with his silence. He lifted his arms awkwardly, and embraced her, nervously, almost reluctantly.

          “Mr. Nygma?”

          “I am glad that we are friends. It’s been so long since someone has listened to me without having something to gain.”

          Harley smiled and put her arms around him, feeling a shudder of relief pass through his tall frame. “I am glad that we are friends too, Mr. Nygma.”

          “Please, call me Edward.”


	16. What The Little Bird Told Me

Harley was heading out the doors of the precinct, on her way home, when she was shouldered roughly by a girl moving the opposite way.

          “Watch it!” The girl yelled, disappearing inside the precinct. _Yes, as if it had been your fault_. She turned around, suspicious. _What could that little waif be doing in the GCPD headquarters?_  

          _Wait. Was that Selina?_ Harley considered sprinting back through the doors, to see what this Selina had to say about Fish Mooney and the Dollmaker, but, Harley sighed, she was tired. She was worn from the discoveries and traumas since taking this job. Her view on her father had completely turned upside-down, and she was now delving into the Gotham’s criminal underworld with two of the city’s most well-known detectives. She was putting herself under huge amounts of stress, as well as putting herself in danger for the sake of her dead father. She was going to go home and sleep.

          She walked to her apartment, passing Cobblepot’s club and waving at Butch, who smiled from his bouncer’s chair. She climbed the stairs wearily, and unlocked the door.

          She was grabbed roughly from someone behind the door. A hand clad in black leather clamped over her mouth, and she felt the cold press of a blade on her throat.      

          “It seems,” Her assailant said, his voice smooth and calm. “That a little bird has been singing a little too loud for her own good.”

          She didn’t allow herself time to become afraid, instead pushing the blade away with one hand and driving an elbow into the man’s stomach. He doubled over, and she ran to the other side of the room.

          “Augh,” He said, laughing and groaning. “I like a little fight in them.” He took a step forward, and she backed into the kitchen door. “Where’d you learn that? The cops teach you?”

          Harley found the doorknob with one hand. “No, I suppose it’s just instinct.” Hand shaking, she turned the knob and felt the latch click. She leaned into it, opening the door with her weight, stepping inside and slamming it before the man could realize. There wasn’t a lock, so she didn’t have much time.       The man burst through the door, and a heavy vase of roses came sailing towards his head. He tried to dodge it, and it clipped part of his head before smashing against the wall. He advanced on Harley, who stood behind the table, out of options.

          He was terrifying to look at, wide eyes and offsetting smile. And there didn’t seem to be a hair anywhere on his head, even lacking eyebrows. It made him look inhuman, deranged, a machine with only the purpose of killing.

          “You’re a feisty one. And the feisty ones are the best.” He lunged and reached out for her, and in the moonlight streaming through the windows, Harley saw the innumerable scars on his arms. Her eyes widened. _Tally marks. Why would someone carve tally marks into their arms?_

“I have to keep track somehow, you know,” He said, following her glance, before grinning. He shot towards her and she flailed, hoping to hit something important. He caught one of her hands, and examined her nails. “Blue,” He stated, smiling softly and then pausing, as if considering something. “Such a pretty color on you.”

          Before she could respond, she felt a heavy impact to the side of her neck and everything blackened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting towards the climax of the story! Yay! These next few chapters will likely switch back and forth from Harley's point of view to maybe Harvey's or Nygma's. How'd you like it? :)


	17. A Gift From Victor Zsasz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How on earth have I already gotten to seventeen chapters? Your guess is as good as mine. :)

          “She told me that he owned a private island west of Gotham, with a big brick building. She had coordinates, but she didn’t tell me where they’d be,” Selina said, leaning back in Harvey’s chair, propping her feet on the desk. Harvey stiffened, still not happy about being evicted from his own office space.

          Jim leaned forward. “What else did she tell you about?”

          “Said she woke up in some dingy basement, and they’d take people as they needed them. They were in the basement underneath the hospital. She led a revolt and eventually escaped with a handful of people.”

          “And where are the other escapees?”

          “Some left Gotham right after she died. Others are still scattered around here.” Harvey rolled his eyes. Nygma scurried up the stairs, coffee mug in hand.

          “Now,” He began. “I haven’t found much on the way of forensics that can help us track down where these murders and organ removals took place, but we do know that it was done in a very safe environment, with precision and care. These organs were likely used for something, or they wouldn’t be so carefully removed.”

          “Yeah, we know, Ed.” Harvey said. “Hey, will you go tell Harley to come up here? She’s staying at Dr. Thompkins’ place tonight for protection.”

          Nygma looked confused. “Miss Quinzel? Why, she left over an hour ago. For protection?”

          Jim stood immediately and Harvey pulled on his coat. And ten minutes later, they were in the car, racing to Harley’s apartment.

          Harvey tried to cover his worry with muttered complaints about teenagers never listening. Jim was irritated that Harley was supposed to be spending the night with Leslie, which meant that he would probably have to sleep in his own apartment for once. He was also irritated that Nygma had pitched a fit until they let him come. Nygma sat in the backseat, wondering what kind of danger his new friend could be in.

          Harvey took the stairs two at a time up to her floor while the other two lagged behind. He had kicked the door in by the time they had caught up with him, and Jim was beginning to sense that Harvey was frantic.

          “Harley!” Bullock yelled, searching the apartment. He ran from room to room.

          “The roses!” Nygma cried, seeing the flowers among the broken vase on the kitchen floor. “There was a struggle,” He whispered, looking around. A chair was knocked over, and the wall near the door dripped with water. “Someone threw the vase at someone else.”

          “Harvey!” Jim yelled. Bullock and Nygma ran to his voice, finding their way into Harley’s bedroom. They stared in shock and silence, until Harvey walked into the bathroom and vomited in the sink. On Harley’s perfectly-made bed was a note, and on top of it was a single, bloodied fingernail, tipped in blue.

          _The last you’ll ever see of Harley Quinzel._

_Love,_

_Victor Zsasz_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? Feedback? I appreciate any comments or kudos. Thank you for reading! :)


	18. The Better To See You With, My Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley finally comes face-to-face with her father's last employer: The Dollmaker.

          Harley woke suddenly, sweating and breathing hard. She recalled the events of last night and wondered if she should feel foggy or confused. But everything felt clear and rememberable.

          She tried to move her hands, and found them strapped to the rails of the bed. Sunlight streamed through high windows. Her clothes from last night were replaced by a simple cotton shift, tied closed in the back, like a hospital gown. Her left hand ached, and upon further inspection, she found the tip of her ring finger tightly bandaged.

          _Did something happen to your finger while unconscious?_

It was fairly obvious that she was in a hospital room. Among the two rows of beds lining the large room, only hers was occupied. She heard the echo of footsteps approaching, and her heart jumped into her throat.

          A somewhat elderly man strolled into the room, and took a clipboard off the end of her bed.

          “Miss… Quinzel, I presume?” He read the name, then glanced up at her nonchalantly.

          Harley’s eyes narrowed.

          “I am quite sorry about your finger. The nail will grow back soon. In the meantime, I’ve taken Mr. Zsasz aside and discussed the proper and improper methods of leaving a message. Are you feeling well?”

          Harley didn’t respond.

          “Clearheaded, I hope. That is one of the many benefits of the carotid artery, I must say. It is quite pressure sensitive, so if one puts enough force onto it, a message is sent to the brain, saying there has been a spike in blood pressure. The brain looks to alleviate this pressure, causing instant loss of consciousness. It works very quickly and is much easier to fix than, say, a blunt force to the head, which can also cause a loss of consciousness.”

          “Who are you?” Harley’s voice was cold.

          The man raised his eyebrows. “No need to be so hostile, Miss Quinzel. My name is simply Francis Dulmacher, and I am a surgeon.”

          “You’re the Dollmaker.”

          Dulmacher chuckled. “I have been called that, by those with more theatrical flair than I. I do find the name rather amusing.”

          He sat on the edge of her bed, and Harley drew her knees up. “You know, you have the most wonderful eyes.” He said, gazing at her. Avoiding eye contact would be a sign of fear, so Harley looked back at him.

          “Thank you.”

          Dulmacher stood, walking to her side. “You are a quite stunning human. Inside and outside. A strong heart, healthy lungs, even O negative blood.” He smiled. “That makes my job so much easier.”

          Harley tensed and pulled slightly against her restraints. “In fact,” He knelt beside her, running a finger down the side of her face. Her jaw clenched. “One might go so far as to say that you are,” He paused, as if for effect. “Physical perfection.

          “Now how lucky it was that I came to find you. Or rather, you almost came to find me. I run a successful business, Miss Quinzel, and I expected a smart girl like yourself to understand that.”

          “You butcher prisoners and homeless children for black market transplants.”

          Dulmacher stood abruptly, eyes burning with rage. “As if that matters even slightly in the grand scheme of things! Where do you think those organs would be going if I hadn’t intervened? Dying in the streets from hunger, failing under the stress of rampant alcoholism and drug use!”

          He leaned over her, his face dangerously close. “I’m saving and prolonging the lives of those that might cure cancer, those that might help achieve world peace, those that might invent something revolutionary, those that might unlock the secrets of our universe, those that write the next classic novel, those that might change the world. Imagine where we might be if Edison or Einstein had lived for another thirty years!”

          Harley looked at him, defiant. “And what if those that might change the world are locked in the basement or strapped in hospital beds?” She asked quietly.

          The Dollmaker’s face contorted for a slight moment, then relaxed. “What pretty eyes you have,” His voice quivered, holding in anger. Harley found herself holding her breath, waiting for his next words. The Dollmaker smiled softly.

          “The better for someone else to see with, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O negative blood is the universal donor, meaning that anyone in need of a blood transfusion can take O negative. It makes organ transplants that much easier. 
> 
> Thanks for all those who have read, commented and left kudos! It is very much appreciated! 
> 
> Feel free to leave any complaints/suggestions/questions in the comments. Thank you!


	19. The Only One Who Cares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullock, distraught over Harley's kidnapping, solves the puzzle of The Dollmaker's island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, little chapter right before the big finale. :)  
> Thank you to all who have read, left kudos, and commented! Your support has been amazing!

          Jim had never seen Harvey so distraught.

          “Jim, we gotta get moving, they’re gonna kill her.” Harvey paced, and Jim looked at him worriedly from his desk chair.

          “Harvey, we have nothing to go on. Selina told us a private island outside of Gotham. How far out of Gotham? There are at least fifteen right off the bay.”

          “We’ve got to find her, Jim. Tell me the full description again.”

          Jim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Private island, outside of Gotham, I guess close enough to get to in a chopper. And a big brick building.”

          Harvey paced again, thinking. Then suddenly, he stopped abruptly, and looked at Jim. “Dulock’s.”

          “What?”

          “A huge red brick orphanage, on an island about forty miles west of Gotham. Closed over fifty years ago.”

          Jim stood. “We need to get permission from Essen for the helicopter. Do we want SWAT teams?”

          “No, this is small. If we want to take down the Dollmaker eventually, that’s fine. But right now this is about rescuing Harley.”

          “If I may,” Nygma began behind them, and both Harvey and Jim jumped. “I’d like to go too. Considering the nature of this situation, it might be beneficial to have a medic with you.”

          Harvey clapped him on the back, stern. “No, Ed.”

          “Detective Bullock,” Edward stuttered, struggling with his words. “You- You aren’t the only one here who c- Who cares for Harley.”

          Harvey looked at Jim, who only shrugged. “Fine. But we have to get going.”


	20. Dollbaby

          “You know what my patients call the donors? The really exceptional donors, like yourself.”

          Harley rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine.”

          The Dollmaker smiled. “They call them ‘Dollbabies’. Isn’t that amusing?” He stood, crossing over to a table in the center of the room, and pulled gloves tightly over his hands, then let them snap. Harley was vaguely reminded of Nygma.

          _Poor Nygma. I’m so sorry I’ll be leaving you alone. I really enjoyed your company, dear friend._ Harley frowned. And Bullock. She was beginning to sense that he viewed her as sort of a daughter, and she wondered if he was upset.

          _And mother, with no clue of my disappearance. Simply fading out of her life, just like Liza._  

          “And you, my dear,” The Dollmaker wrapped his hands around the bars at her foot of her bed. “Are the most perfect Dollbaby of all.” He pulled gently, guiding her bed out of its place. Harley glanced over the edge and saw that the bedposts had wheels on the ends. He pulled her through the doorway and down a long hall. Her heart began to race, and she struggled against her restraints.

          “I usually have orderlies take care of this part, but you, my dear, are a special case. And I wanted the privilege of doing it myself.” He pushed through a wide set of doors, and Harley found herself in a large operating theater. The Dollmaker gestured to a large steel table in the center. “Donors are usually put there before they’re bled out- there’s a drain in it that makes things much easier-, but Mr. Zsasz tells me that you’re quite a fireball when you want to be.” He gazed down at her. “You’ll ruin the sheets, but that’s a necessary sacrifice.”

          He picked up a scalpel on a nearby table and Harley whimpered. “It’s virtually painless, my dear.” He smiled, and in any other circumstance, Harley would have found it a comforting smile. “Don’t be afraid of death. It’s quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

          Harley closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She felt a prick on the side of her neck and began to pray silently. After a few seconds, she could feel the warm wetness of her own blood seeping down into her hair.

          _Please._  

          Harley vaguely wondered if she was hearing the sound of gunshots before falling silently into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's quicker and easier than falling asleep." is a quote from Harry Potter, when Sirius Black describes dying. 
> 
> A sliced carotid usually renders the victim unconscious in about 20 seconds, and can kill in 2 to 4 minutes if left to flow freely. I hope Google doesn't think I'm insane for searching that. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	21. A God That Looks Over Gotham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're almost done! :)   
> Thanks for all the support!

          “Harley!” Nygma yelled, shaking her. Harley’s eyes fluttered and he silently rejoiced at the movement.  

          “Harley, open your eyes. Keep your eyes open for me.” Nygma sprinted down the hallway, carrying Harley in his arms. She was weak already when he’d burst into the operating theater, and was shot at by an older doctor. He’d fired back, hitting the man in the thigh. He had been aiming for the head, but it was pretty good, considering he’d never used a firearm. The man limped away as quickly as he could into an adjoining room.

          Harley was strapped to a gurney, bleeding out. He found enough gauze and bandages to wrap her neck tightly whilst still allowing her to breathe, and for reasons unknown to himself, he’d pulled off his lab coat, folding it around her before picking her up.

          “Jim! Harvey!” Nygma yelled. They had to be around here somewhere. After all the orderlies and patients were locked in a few closets, they’d split up to look for Harley. “I’ve got her! We need to go!”

          He looked down at Harley, white as paper. There were faint freckles standing out around her nose that he’d never noticed before. She was so light in his arms, pale and barely breathing. He could feel her blood soaking through one of his sleeves.

          Jim and Harvey appeared out of another hallway, breathing hard. Harvey went white.           “Oh, my God.”

          “We need to go, now. It’s amazing she’s held on this long.” Nygma said, and all three began running towards the main doors of the building.

          The helicopter was waiting, and, thankfully, still running. “Give her to me,” Harvey said, getting in, and Nygma wordlessly helped him move Harley into his arms.

          “Gotham General, _now._ ” Jim ordered to the pilot, and he felt his stomach drop as they took off.

          “Harley, you there?” Harvey rocked her limp frame gently. “Please don’t die on me.”

          Jim surveyed the scene; Nygma covered in blood and missing his lab coat, and Harvey rocking a dying teenage girl in his lap. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t really know Harley, but he could tell that she was a good girl. He liked having her around. And he knew that Nygma loved her dearly and Harvey cared for her much more than he would admit.

          “Harley, stay with us. We’re going to the hospital.” Jim looked at Harvey, and looked away immediately, not wanting to see the tears in his partner’s eyes.

          If there was a God that looked over Gotham, Jim hoped that He would keep Harley alive, for the sake of the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did my best to leave the ending rather ambiguous, in case the Dollmaker comes back into play at some point.


	22. If This Was Dying

          “Harley!” It was Nygma. She struggled to open her eyes and caught a glimpse of his face, worried and scared.

          “Harley, open your eyes. Keep your eyes open for me.” But it was so hard. She tried to remember what had happened to make her so tired, but all she could register was an odd floating sensation and the feeling of arms around her.

          Nygma was carrying her, she realized. Her cheek bumped against his bicep with each step he took, and she noted sleepily that his arms felt bigger than she would have imagined. If she were completely conscious, it would have surprised her that he could carry her at all. She felt a tightness around her neck, and found that she was too weak to turn. Nygma must have wrapped up the wound. She opened one eye and saw blood seeping into gray fabric wrapped around her.

          _What is that?_

          She stared a moment before realizing that Nygma wasn’t wearing a lab coat anymore. He must’ve wrapped it around her. Harley smiled faintly.

          She could hear him yelling, but she was too tired to be concerned. Waves of exhaustion and nausea passed over her, and she leaned her cheek against Nygma’s arm again and surrendered to the dark.

          “Harley, you there?” Another set of arms shook her gently. She inhaled and found the smell of spearmint and leather. “Please don’t die on me.” Harley smiled faintly. Harvey. He began to rock her gently, whispering in her ear.

          So this was dying? It wasn’t so bad.

          “Harley, stay with us. We’re going to the hospital.” Hospital? What would they need a hospital for now? She was floating freely between the sensations and sounds of wherever she was, and the blackness that wanted to pull her away.

          She couldn’t tell if she was actually surrounded by Nygma and Harvey, or if they had appeared to her post-mortem, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Right now she was warm and tired and being held by someone. Someone who she knew cared for her.

          If this was dying, she was okay with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of the chapter.   
> Thank you for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and being generally supportive!


	23. Every Yellow Rose In Gotham

          Harley stirred, reaching up with one hand to move her hair out of her face. Her arm stung at the movement, and a hand gently took hold of her wrist.

          “Ah, don’t do that. You’ll prick your arm from the inside, that that’s not good.”

          It took a lot of strength to open her eyes, and the light of the room burned. “What?” Her throat was dry and scratchy. She was parched.

          Nygma’s face came into focus, smiling. “You have an IV in, so don’t bend your arm.”

          “You look terrible.” And he did. There were dark circles under his eyes, his usually parted hair was disheveled, and his clothes were wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He turned to look into the hall for a moment and Harley noticed a purpling bruise on his left cheek.

          Nygma smiled. “You should see yourself.”

          “I’m so tired. What happened?”

          He sat on the edge of her bed, carefully making sure that he did not sit on her feet. “You lost eight pints, or about two thirds of your body’s blood supply. You were in an induced coma for about three days.”

          Harley tried to put hazy memories into order. “Did you… Did you carry me?”

          Nygma smiled softly, and looked down. “You weren’t heavy at all.”

          Harley laughed. “Thanks. I’m glad to hear it. Where’d the bruise come from?”

          Nygma’s face flushed. “An orderly punched me.”

          “What?” Harley tried to sit up, and found herself too weak.

          “They were taking you into the ICU, and they said I couldn’t come. I refused to leave you, and got into a fistfight.”

          Harley grinned, and Nygma seemed reassured, smiling weakly. “Why?”

          His eyes became large, concerned.“I was afraid you were dying. I didn’t want you to die surrounded by people that you didn’t know.”

          “Thank you, Nygma.”

          “Edward.”

          “Edward. Can you help me sit up?”

          “Yeah.” He took her hand and helped pull her up. The hospital room came more into view, and Harley gasped.

          Every flat surface in her room was covered with vases of yellow roses. She looked at Nygma, who blushed. “You used every pint of O negative in supply, and I used every yellow rose in the hospital.”

          “You used every yellow rose in Gotham!”

          He grinned, bending over to pick something up. “Look, everyone at the precinct got you a card!” He held up at least thirty brightly colored envelopes.

          Harley looked around. “Do you hear yelling?”

          “She’s awake? She’s awake!” She heard thunderous footsteps in the hall, and Harvey burst through the door at a full sprint, just managing to stop before hitting the bed. He hugged her carefully, holding her tight.   
          “Oh, my God.”

          Harley smiled weakly. “Harvey, I’m okay.”

          “We didn’t know if you would be. You gave us all a pretty good scare.” He stood, and she noticed he looked as rough as Nygma.

          “What happened to you two? You look almost homeless.”

          Harvey laughed. “You try sleeping on that tiny couch for three days.”

          “Neither of you have gone home since I was admitted?”

          Nygma shook his head. “We shared the couch. I slept at night, and he slept during the day.”

          “Yeah, I tried to sleep. But it’s hard with Stephen King over here talking the whole time.”

          Nygma crossed his arms over his chest, indignant. “It’s a proven fact that coma patients are more responsive when being read or talked to.” He smiled at Harley. “I hope you like _The Shining_.”

          Harley grinned. _He’s so odd._ “It’s one of my favorites.”

          Nygma, smug, stuck his tongue out at Harvey, distracted by his phone, and Harley giggled. _Sometimes he’s just a boy in a man’s body._

          “Well, I gotta go, Harley-girl. I’ve been gone for a while and Jim’s making a mess of things.”He hugged her again, planting a kiss on her forehead. Then, too soft for Nygma to hear, he whispered.

          “Please don’t do that to me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, though. Don't bend your arm if you have an IV in. They had to tie a board around my elbow once because I stuck myself so many times.
> 
> I just love the image of Nygma, arms crossed, childishly sticking his tongue out at Harvey. It's simultaneously adorable and hysterical.
> 
> I'm thinking one more chapter for this story, and it'll be all wrapped up! I have an idea for a sequel, something to explore more of her relationship with Jonathan, and maybe delve more into her childhood.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! It means so much to me!


	24. Get Well Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of The New Intern! I'm most definitely writing a sequel, but it was time to wrap this one up with a bow and a cliffhanger.

          She made Nygma go home the next morning, threatening not to answer another riddle until he got a shower and a good night’s sleep. He had still been sitting next to her on the bed when she fell asleep, and when she awoke, he was going around the room, watering the roses.

          “Did you sleep at all?”

          “A few hours.” His hair stuck up in all directions. It worried her, how he threw his own wellbeing to the wind in order to stay with her. He wasn’t bothering her, in fact, she immensely appreciated his company, but it seemed that he cared almost recklessly.

          Harvey came and visited her in the afternoon, bringing more cards from the precinct. They spent a few hours opening the envelopes. There was a simple, professional “Get well soon” from Essen, a more personalized one from Leslie, and an almost-blank card, signed “Jim” at the bottom.

          “I’ll bet you your hospital bill that Leslie made him write one,” Harvey laughed, and Harley wondered if Jim really liked her at all.

          There were at least six cards from Nygma, complete with little puzzles and ciphers in his scrawled handwriting. Harvey busied himself with one of the cards, occasionally complaining how the riddles were impossible and how Nygma needed professional help.

          There was one card left in the pile, addressed in flourishing cursive:

          “Dollbaby.”

          Harley’s hands went cold. Shaking, she broke the black wax seal and pulled a small gray card out from the envelope. The front was adorned with an illustration of a doll in a hospital bed, complete with a cast and IV drip. The doll frowned up at her. Opening it, Harley realized she was holding her breath.

          “ _Miss Quinzel,_

_Our warmest wishes for a fast and thorough recovery._

_From myself and my staff,_

_Francis Dulmacher_ ”

          “H-Harvey?”

          “What?” He turned to her, noticed her fear, and took the card immediately.

          “What is this?” Harvey pulled his glasses from his pocket and examined the note. “Dulmacher?” He looked up at her. “As in-“

          “The Dollmaker.”

          They stared at each other for a moment, watching the fear in the other’s eyes. “Harvey, this isn’t over, is it?”

          Harvey sighed and took off his glasses, running a hand through his hair. “Far from it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wax seals, like rose colors or flowers in general, also carry meaning. A black wax seal usually meant condolences or notices of death. 
> 
> I don't know if the note means that the Dollmaker will appear in the next story, or if it was just meant to scare.
> 
> Thank you for reading this! I really appreciate it!


End file.
